Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(197)

“So, what was that new rule you had about not kissing me anymore?” I pant quietly afterwords, standing now and leaning back into him.

I feel his arms circle around me and hold me close; “Fuck the rules.”





22





Logan




After that, it’s like we just say “fuck it” and go wild. After that, it’s basically open season on Quinn and I screwing around any and every chance we get. I even do get to act out the little fantasy I had before of fucking her bent over her desk at work one day, her lips wrapped tightly around my fingers to muffle her screams as she comes like a fucking rocket with me right along with her. Inappropriate touches and lingering looks turn into little squeezes and fondles, even to the point where at one point I’ve got two of my fingers buried deep in her pussy under the table at a power-point presentation, coaxing her to an orgasm that has her scratching her nails across the table-top enamel in the semidarkness of the room.

But of course, we’re also still sneaking around and playing this big game of secrets about the whole thing. I mean, Reagan obviously knows by this point, but I’m still pretty sure that she hasn’t told her husband yet as evident by the distinct lack of Hudson beating me to death with my own arms. Secrets in-and-of themselves aren’t new to me; years of assuming a new name and a new life is a pretty good classroom for keeping truths hidden away. But there’s also not a whole lot I don’t tell Hudson and Bryce, so to be adding this on top of the whole Javier thing gets under my skin in this weird way.

But it’s fun, and it’s wild, and I know somewhere deep inside that it’s probably more than that, but neither Quinn or I are touching on that particular facet of it. I catch myself worrying that the thrill of it being this secret affair type thing is what’s fueling the fire between. I wonder if Quinn is just viewing this whole thing as some sort of ongoing casual fling; that little good-girl Quinn’s got a temporary taste for playing with the bad boy. But that train of thought of course leads down an entirely new rabbit hole; one where I’m actually having thoughts about whether some girl likes me or not.

Yeah, there’s nothing about any of that kind of thinking that’s me. But then of course, there’s nothing “some girl” about Quinn, either. She’s just too amazing, in that way where it’s clear she doesn’t quite see that herself. Beyond that, fuck is she sexy; again, in a way where it’s clear she doesn’t quite get that either.

So yeah, generally you could say there’s nothing normal about this relationship.

Yeah, relationship; because sneaking around like we’re having some sort of illicit affair and fucking around like teenagers in every private and even semi-public place we can find is exactly how you’d define a healthy a relationship, right?

Right.

“Stop!” Quinn looks at me with wide, wild looking eyes as she covers the phone receiver and hisses at me.

“What?” I whisper right back, shrugging and resuming the slow advance of my hand up the inside of her thigh under her skirt.

“Absolutely, absolutely; well, we’ll need to monitor infection rates in the clinical trials, but it does look promising.”

Quinn’s on some phone call - actually on what I gather is a fairly important phone call - with someone in D.C. about a vaccination we might be investing in. Of course the importance of this call does nothing to curb the fact that I’m still alone in a room with Quinn Archer, and as such, I’m naturally taking every liberty I can to be as inappropriately hands-y as possible.

Naturally.

Because lingering worries about the nature of our “relationship” aside, I can’t get enough of this girl. It’s bad enough in public, or while we’re in a meeting or something. But here in her office with the door shut and her wearing that little pin-stripe pencil skirt? Yeah, forget it. Her ass just looks too fucking incredible in that thing as she stands by the window talking on the phone, and I am apparently not a strong-willed man when it comes to forbidden, auburn-haired girls wearing ass-hugging pencil skirts.

“Logan!” She hisses again, looking at me like I’m insane as she nods at something to do with the phone conversation; “Certainly, certainly. No, I’ve got time to go over the analysis now; sure.”

Let’s hope you can multitask, Doc, I grin to myself.

My hand slides up even higher, and she shivers as my fingers find the warm front of her panties. I push gently against the softness there, feeling her squirm as I start to slowly rub her slit through the cotton of her underwear. Feeling how wet she is immediately has me rock hard in seconds.